


The Dancer

by AtoTheBean



Series: Ato's 007 Fest Fan Creations [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: AU, M/M, Prompt Fill, alternate first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 23:51:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15521460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtoTheBean/pseuds/AtoTheBean
Summary: For the prompt: Ballet dancer!Q and opera house patron!Bond





	The Dancer

James enters the cavernous theater, expecting to find Sophia, the Royal Opera Foundations’ director and his acquaintance these twenty years, or her counterpart for the Ballet Foundation, Charles. Instead, he finds a solo dancer rehearsing onstage with no music. It only takes a moment for James to sense the rhythm of the dance, and a moment longer to become completely mesmerized. He doesn’t attend the ballet season. His mother introduced him to opera at a tender age and he’s maintained the tradition after her death. When the ballet company takes over the space in the spring, he’s generally happy to have his months away from the Opera House to pursue other interests. Now he’s wondering if he’s missing out. The man onstage is lithe, but all muscle, his chest and shoulders broad, and his thighs positively bulging as he performs a series of leaps that defy gravity. The few ballets James attended over the years seemed a bit feminine and precious for his tastes, but this dance and this _dancer_ are definitely masculine. James is torn between an artistic appreciation of this… this sculpture in motion, and an inappropriate _carnal_ interest in the muscular form. Perhaps Sophia will know who the dancer is.

James gets to the third row and takes a seat, not wanting to interrupt the rehearsal and not knowing where else to look for Sophia. He watches as the man performs the series of leaps, and then stop abruptly and place a hand on his hip, breathing heavily and motioning with his other hand, as if going over the steps in his head. He walks the stage in a semicircle, marking steps periodically, and then with a flourish of his arm, he’s dancing full out again. And it’s breathtaking. The black leggings and soft slippers don’t interfere with the line of the dancer’s body, the way costumes often do, and there’s something almost decadent in the simplicity. Just the dancer and the dance and the emotion they elicit. When he’s done, there’s a sheen on his bare chest and his damp curls cling to his brow, but he looks pleased. It’s only then that he looks out at the house and sees James watching.

“Oh,” he startles. “Can I help you?”

James stands and walks over to the edge of the stage. “Sophia asked me to meet her and a Charles Cafferty here, but she seems to have been held up. I thought I'd wait to see if they turned up, and I didn’t want to disturb you. Unless… you aren’t Charles are you?”

“No,” he laughs. “Charles is… well, he has a few years on me. They _were_ here, but Dominique twisted her ankle, and they took her over to ice it and get it seen to. Oh, and she left her pointe shoes,” he says idly, noticing the pink satin at the edge of the stage.

“Those aren’t yours then?” James asks.

The man raises an eyebrow. “You don’t watch much ballet, do you? Men don’t dance on pointe. Unless it’s a spoof, like Mark Morris’ drag Swan Lake or something. We leap and lift, they balance and spin. Traditionally, at least. In contemporary ballet, those roles aren’t as strict. But regardless, men are rarely on pointe. We’re too heavy for it to be safe.”

“I’m afraid I have a lot to learn. I’ve been on and off the Opera Foundation board for years, but have only seen a few ballets. James Bond”

“Q,” he responds. “Oh, so you’re here for the joint Gala tonight. Should be interesting.”

“Yes,” James agrees. “Both foundations want to support the renovation of the space. It makes sense to throw a joint fundraiser. Plus, we patrons love to compete with one another to prove how generous we are. If there are twice as many of us in a room, that’s twice as many egos with checkbooks to get into a spending frenzy. A good thing for the arts.”

Q laughs, and James’ interest takes a sharp turn away from the arts again.

“You honestly look a bit young to be a rich patron. If you _are_ one, I’m being terribly informal with you. I should be offering you champagne and catering to your needs.”

James doesn’t miss the innuendo. “Then I should be in disguise more often, so as to have the opportunity to talk without all that pomp and circumstance. Though I wouldn’t say no to champagne tonight. Will you be performing that piece during the gala?” James asks, nodding at the stage.

“Hmm,” Q agrees. “As a preview of a new production, still in progress. I was just having to adjust the choreography, because the music’s changed again, and we have an extra eight-count to fill.”

“You’re the choreographer?”

“No. That would be our artist in residence, Milo Steffens. But he’s very collaborative with the dancers, and since this is my solo, he let me make the adjustment, so long as I hit my mark at the end of it.”

“Sounds like an interesting process. Is that typical?”

“All choreographers are different. That’s half the fun. I’ve been fortunate enough at the Royal Ballet to work with quite a few over the years.”

“You’ve been with the company for a while then?” James asks.

“Over a decade, which means I’ll be put out to pasture soon. Thirty-four is ancient for a dancer. I’m not even confident I’ll earn top dollar tonight at the auction.”

“I beg your pardon. Are you being auctioned off?”

Q reaches for a towel on the floor and wipes away some of the sweat from his face. “It’s an RBC tradition. Popular dancers are auctioned off for an evening appearance at some other function. I’ve been bought to give master classes at local dance schools, give lectures about dance history at universities, or just ‘appear’ at family parties as a sort of low-grade celebrity. Dom once had to appear at the birthday party of the six-year-old daughter of our largest benefactor, who was obsessed with becoming a ballerina.”

“That sounds… truly terrible, actually,” James says wryly.

Q nods. “She’s still telling the story, years later. But really, it’s not so bad. Keeps us all in costumes and allows us to bring in new talent. And we get to know the people who support us, which can’t hurt, despite occasional mortifications. What’s worse is being past your prime and being auctioned and _not_ getting bid on. I’ve started mentioning I can build websites, just in case that skill set is more appealing.”

James laughs, finding Q’s modesty endearing. “I’m clearly no expert, but you don’t seem past your prime to me.” Something flashes in Q’s face. “Once they see your solo, I have little doubt you’ll do just fine. That said, I imagine dancers must need some secondary career for after they retire.”

Q sits on the stage and stretches his legs out on either side of him. “Most either teach or choreograph, but I don’t see myself doing either of those. And sorry, but my muscles are starting to cool, and I need to stay limber.”

James waves a hand, indicating that he doesn’t mind in the least. The view actually keeps getting better, as far as he’s concerned. “So, onto your website design business?”

Q shrugs. “Something technical. I’m good with computers, and most people associated with the arts aren’t. There’s likely a niche there to tap.”

They both turn as a door slams behind James and Sophia rushes in. “James, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. We had a little emergency.”

“Dom’s ankle, I heard!” James responds. “Not to worry, I’ve been well taken care of. Good luck with the performance, tonight, Q.”

The dancer waves at him as he retreats to Sophia’s side, going over details for the evening.

*** oo ***

JB: I need a favor

EM: What else is new?

JB: I’m sending over the bio of a dancer who goes by “Q”

JB: Please run a background check. Focus on possible Lebanese connection. He thinks his accent isn’t noticeable, but it’s still there.

EM: Okay. When by?

JB: 6:00 tonight.

EM Bloody hell, that’s not possible.

JB: Yes it is. Look for potential hacking connections too. Wasn’t there a hacker called QT a while back

EM: You realize that means cutie, right? That’s not his monogram.

JB: Just do it, please.

*** oo ***

EM: Lebanese hacker, active in the early naughts. Emigrated to the UK in ‘06, and quiet ever since.  Naturalized citizen as of '11.

JB: wanted?

EM: No, Oddly enough, all of his hacking seemed to be to expose people doing wrong. He was some sort of vigilante. Methods were shady, but the results weren’t

JB: Understood. M is calling me in. May I bother you for one more favor? I’ve set up an account...All you need to do is bid via phone in my absence.

*** oo ***

Q is disappointed after his performance to discover that the handsome James Bond isn’t at the gala after all. He’s relieved, however, to have received top dollar in the auction, not from anyone on the room, but a mystery bidder on the phone. And he’s utterly perplexed when a waiter delivers an envelope with a note inside — unsigned — requesting a dinner date in a week at La Mer.

At least it isn’t a child’s birthday party…

*** oo ***

Q is nervous as he waits at the table for his mystery date, not at all sure who he’s going to meet. He runs through dance steps and geometric formulae depicting movement not unlike dance to calm himself. And then he sees him.

“You!”

“Sorry for the cloak and dagger, but I wanted to take some precautions…” James says as he seats himself across from Q. “Also, you should select a different letter to go by if you don’t want your shadows to find you.”

Q freezes and pales noticeably.

“Relax, Q,” James reassures. “We’re perfectly welcoming to immigrants, and you’ve kept your nose clean for a very long time. So much so, that I may have a suggestion for you to consider when you’re ready for retirement from the stage.”

Q smiles, relieved. “I’m listening.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
